


Bad Blood

by Angela



Category: Banana Fish
Genre: F/M, Gen, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-09
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-07 15:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15222158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angela/pseuds/Angela
Summary: Ash had a girlfriend once, when he was fourteen. It didn't end well. This is that story.SPOILERS!, despite taking place before the manga series.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place three years before the manga begins, about one year before "Private Opinion" where Ash meets Blanca for the first time, and maybe nine months before he meets Shorter in "Angel Eyes." (This is assuming I have my canon timeline right; forgive me if I don't.) [EDIT: it turns out that I *didn't* have my timeline right. This is definitely about a year before "Private Opinion," but on closer inspection, that story is set about a year before "Angel Eyes."] Ash is small, untrained, and uncertain, but I'm hoping you'll see some of the Ash we know from the manga in this version.
> 
> Because it takes place in the period before Ash had any kind of freedom from Dino Golzine, I marked "Rape/Non-Con" and "Underage" in the warnings. I don't plan to do anything even remotely graphic with this story, but as this is a part of Ash's life that he makes reference to, I figured it was wise to use the warnings anyway.
> 
> And since he won't be mentioned in the story, I thought I'd mention him here: Eiji. I love Eiji. I'll miss him, working on this.

1.

Ash was too quick for Wookie. He dodged each swing, catching only glancing blows on the shoulder or ear, but couldn’t manage to get in close enough to get in any hits of his own. Wookie had at least fifty or sixty pounds on him, and the thought of any one of those punches landing kept Ash nimble. He wasn’t called Wookie just because he was huge – no, the kids on the street called him that because, like Chewbacca in the _Star Wars_ movies, if you made him mad, he would tear your arms off.

He was also Fredrick Arthur’s enforcer, so if you crossed Arthur, you crossed Wookie.

Ash hadn’t even meant to piss off Arthur this time. It had been an accident, his blundering into that deal between him and the Quasars. Ash had only been on the docks because of some errand Papa Dino had sent him on. It was a total coincidence.

Though the closer Wookie’s fists came to finding his face, the more he wondered if he hadn’t been set up. It was the third time he’d ended up in Arthur’s cross-hairs, after all. The first time had been his own fault, too green and stupid to know better. Since that first beating, he’d been careful, yet here he was again, the victim of circumstance yet again.

He sidestepped, ducking low to try an uppercut into Wookie’s solar plexus. No good, and now he was too close. He dove across the graveled alley, desperate and running out of breath. The problem with being quick was that it was hard to sustain. Ash stumbled. 

Wookie grabbed the back of his shirt. “You ain’t goin’ nowhere,” he growled, hauling Ash back. Ash tried not to flinch. It wasn’t easy keeping ice in your veins when a fist like that was raised to strike. 

The first punch burned like fire on his cheek. Ash’s head snapped back, his legs folding beneath him as he struggled to stay upright. The second got his left eye, and Ash squeezed it shut, trying to block out the pain.

“Careful with his face!” a voice called from somewhere beyond them. “Ash is Dino Golzine’s pretty kitty, and he ain’t gonna like it when he comes home with his face jacked up!” There was mockery in his voice, belying the warning.

“It ain’t his face Golzine likes so much!” quipped another, and the whole group laughed.

There were at least five or six of them in the alley – his gang, his brothers, though Ash was finding that particular idea laughable. Arthur was there, too, perched on top of a dumpster like some kind of garbage king, his arms crossed and his face impassive. Ash caught sight of Kong near the back, his round face frowning. At least someone was pulling for him. Two someones, since wherever Kong was, Bones was sure to be nearby.

But Wookie didn’t appreciate Ash’s attention straying, so he made sure it didn’t happen again. The punches rained down like meteors, each one slamming harder and faster than the last. Ash stayed on his feet for a bit, even landing a punch – weak as it was – to Wookie’s jaw before he collapsed.

He lay on the damp ground, his face pressed against the rough edge of a pothole, trying to catch his breath. It hurt. Everything hurt. But at least it was over. Dear god, let it be over.

“Are you going to tell me who you were spying for last night?” Arthur’s voice was cold.

Ash twisted around, trying to meet his eye and failing. “I told you,” he said, groaning. “Papa Dino sent me with a message for Angie and Giorgio. I didn’t know you were gonna be down there.”

There was a scuffling _thud_ as Arthur jumped from his perch. Ash saw his shoes first – scuffed brown shit kickers with brutal steel toes. Then the boss crouched down, one hand scraping through Ash’s short, spiked hair in a parody of affection. “Now, Ash,” he said softly. “You know I hate it when you lie to me.”

Ash jerked away, eager to get free of his hand and his silky voice. “I’m not a fucking liar,” he snarled, spitting blood with his words.

Arthur chuckled. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “No?” he asked. “I talked to Marvin this afternoon, and he said Dino never sent you anywhere.”

A frisson of real fear crept up Ash’s spine. “Marvin’s a lying pig!” he insisted. He tried to sit up, but his head felt huge and heavy. “Ask Angie, then. Or Giorgio. Hell, ask Dino! He’s the one who told me to go, goddammit!” His words weren’t as forceful as he wanted them to be, wavering and muddy with blood and loose teeth. He turned his face away, scraping his cheek on the asphalt. “If you were a halfway decent boss you would have checked,” he added in a low voice. 

Stupid.

In one swift motion, Arthur was standing. Before Ash could so much as tense his muscles, one steel-toed boot struck the middle of his abdomen. “You little fucking whore!” Arthur roared. “You never learn, do you?” Another kick punctuated his rage.

The crunch of gravel marked his retreat, though Ash found it hard to believe he’d leave it at just two. He cracked one eye open just in time to see Wookie standing over him, a merciless grin gleaming in his face. “Looks like it’s you and me again,” he said, cracking his knuckles.

Ash almost hoped it killed him this time.

“Hey!” Ash almost didn’t hear the voice. His pulse throbbed in his ears and all he could register was the pain in his guts, in his ribs. Wookie kicked again and again, until Ash couldn’t tell the difference between a kick and the throb of his own heart in his chest.

“Hey!” It came again, stronger. Angry. “He’s down, you sick fuck! Lay off, already!”

Wookie paused, grunted. “Ain’t your call,” he growled.

Ash blinked hard, trying to focus. White Keds and long brown legs in cutoff jean shorts. A girl. She put her hands on her hips and looked furiously past Wookie. “Freddy, tell your dog to heel!”

“Go home, Claire.” Arthur sounded bored.

The girl pushed past Wookie and knelt beside Ash. “Jesus Christ, Freddy! You’re gonna kill him!” Her long hair brushed Ash’s arm. Damn, even _that_ hurt. She looked down at Ash, putting one warm hand on his shoulder. “You awake, kid? Can you get up?”

Ash forced himself to sit. His head spun. He felt like he wanted to throw up, but he knew from experience that it would be much, much worse if he did. The girl’s arm slid around his shoulder, supporting him. She looked angrily at Arthur. “What gives you the right to do this to people?” she demanded.

Arthur shrugged. “He’s gotta learn his place,” he said simply. 

She shook her head, disgusted. “You’re a fucking animal sometimes.” She leaned close to Ash. “Can you stand?” she asked in a low voice.

He nodded, not trusting his voice. Together they managed to get to their feet. She led him a few stumbling steps toward the street. “My name’s Claire,” she told him as they went. Each step was agony, and Ash was acutely aware of the guys standing around behind them, watching them go. “Freddy’s my brother, though I’m ashamed to admit it sometimes.”

Freddy? Ash’s brain was sluggish. Most of the guys in the gang used nicknames, like Wookie or Bones, but he couldn’t think of who she could mean. Wookie’s real name was Orlando, and Kong’s mother called him Michael. He tried to remember if there were any other black guys in the alley with them. 

“He wasn’t always like this,” she continued as though they were having a real conversation. “He just thinks he’s gotta be this scary-ass monster, or else he can’t hold his set.” She shook her head – her hair smelled like cocoa butter – and made a rueful noise. “I wish he’d just go straight. Finish high school. He’s got a good head on his shoulders, dumb blond jokes aside.” She looked at him from the corner of her eye. “Guess you’re a dumb blond, too?” she asked lightly.

Ash ignored her joke, focusing instead on the puzzle that was starting to come together in his possibly-concussed head. _Can’t hold his set. Dumb blond._ Freddy. He turned his head, focusing his good eye on Claire. “Fredrick Arthur?” he asked, slurring his words just a bit. “Arthur is your _brother?”_

Her skin was the color of espresso, her eyes like cinnamon. Her black hair was a riot of tight curls that tumbled past her shoulders, tamed only by a bandanna tied like a headband. “You don’t look alike,” he blurted.

Her eyes narrowed just a bit, but she didn’t let go of him, didn’t stop walking. “Different dads,” she said shortly. “Both of them long gone.”

“My mom left when I was a baby,” Ash told her. As soon as the words were out, he regretted them. No one knew about his life before New York. He preferred it that way.

Claire made a sympathetic face. “That’s rough,” she said. “My mom’s not the greatest, but I can’t imagine what it would’ve been like growing up without her.”

“I have a brother,” Ash said, wondering, even as the words were coming out, why he was telling her any of this. “He raised me until I was six.”

“And then?”

“And then he went to Vietnam.” His voice sounded empty, even to his own ears. It wasn’t an uncommon story, no matter how much it seemed like Griff’s leaving was only his own personal tragedy. Mentioning it was a good way to end a conversation, though – everyone knew just enough about it to know that they didn’t want more.

Claire must’ve thought so, too, because she didn’t ask any more questions. They walked on in silence for another block, until she suddenly paused. “Where are we going? Do you live around here?”

He hadn’t thought about a destination. There was no way he could take her to Dino’s. “I have a friend who lives off Ridge Street,” he told her instead. “He’ll patch me up.” He told her Alex’s address.

“That’s not too far,” she said, approving.

He knew he’d be lucky if he made it all the way without collapsing. Claire was supporting his weight more than he liked to admit. This wasn’t the first time he’d had the shit kicked out of him, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, but right then it felt like he’d never been in more pain in his life. He hoped Alex’s mom didn’t mind him sleeping on the couch for the next few days, because Ash couldn’t see himself doing much else.

“Why’d you help me?” he asked Claire as they turned onto Alex’s street.

She looked surprised. “Because I’m not a monster?”

He smiled. It felt like knives in his face, but he did it anyway. “You didn’t have to, though,” he insisted. “It’s not like it’s unusual for Wookie to – ”

“It’s wrong.” Her voice was fierce, accepting no argument. “Treating people like that. He’s like twice your size. It’s terrible. I wish Freddy had never got mixed up in it.”

She said it as though he’d had a choice. And maybe he had; Ash didn’t know. “The world is a messed up place,” he said at last. “You do what you have to do.”

She pursed her lips, looking like she was fighting back an argument. Finally, she smiled. “I guess so. And I had to help you.”

He wondered what it was like, to feel compelled to do good. It probably felt pretty nice.

By then they’d reached the apartment building where Alex lived. Ash leaned on the pillar that held the rickety awning, relieved to have finally made it there and yet regretting that it meant she would be leaving. “Thank you,” he told her. “I’m glad you did.”

She grinned at him, her left cheek dimpling. In the street light, he could see she had freckles. “I’m glad I did, too.”

*

Ash was at Alex’s for the better part of a week. For the first forty-eight hours or so he only left the couch when he had to pee. Alex’s mom cleaned his cuts and wrapped his ribs that first night – she was a nurse at New York Presbyterian – the whole time pretending to believe his story of a hit-and-run with an out-of-state pick up truck. Ash figured she didn’t really want to know what her son and his friends were up to while she worked double and even triple shifts at the hospital.

“Some of the guys are sayin’ you ain’t coming back,” Alex said. They were stuffing themselves on convenience store pizza and some cheap beers that Alex had swiped from the old man in 5-C. Alex was just as small and skinny as Ash – the hope was that their feather-light weight would let them get drunk on just the four cans of watery beer. “They’re saying that Arthur beat you so bad that you’ll never come ‘round again.”

It was how Arthur worked. He wanted to surround himself with guys who could take a beating as well as they could dole one out, so every few months or so, some unlucky kid would get singled out as some kind of scapegoat and get the shit kicked out of him so bad that he never showed his face downtown again. Occasionally one would come back, determined and a whole lot meaner, and those guys eventually became Arthur’s favorites.

Ash had no plans to get meaner, but he wasn’t giving up, either. There was only one way to survive in that city – you had to be strong and you had to have a gang backing you up. Lose either one of those, and Ash might as well hitchhike his way back to Cape Cod. That wasn’t an option.

“I’ll go with you tomorrow,” he decided. 

Alex looked at him with disbelief. “No way. Mom will kill me if I let you leave. Do you know how hard it was to convince her not to take you to the hospital that night? She still thinks you need x-rays.”

It wasn’t like Ash disagreed, really. He had at least one broken rib and his left eye was still swollen mostly shut. “You know I don’t have any choice,” he told Alex quietly. “You’ve heard the things Arthur and his guys say about me even on a normal day. If I don’t go back now, I won’t have any chance at all.”

Alex nodded. He’d been out there his whole life. He understood. “Then we gotta get you a gun,” he said, his expression worried.

Ash felt his stomach lurch. He didn’t like guns. The last time he’d held one, he’d killed a man. Five years had gone by, and he still had nightmares about it.

None of that changed the fact that Alex was right. “That would show Arthur I mean business,” he agreed.

“But where do we scare up that kind of cash?” A gun on the street wouldn’t come cheap, especially something that would make any kind of impression on Fredrick Arthur.

The obvious answer was Dino Golzine, though Ash would rather die than say so. Alex didn’t know about Ash’s situation with Golzine, other than the shit the older guys would say when they taunted him. His friends never paid it any mind – no one knew what was true and what was just nasty gossip, and Ash liked it that way. He worked hard to make sure no one knew too much about any of it.

“I can get it.”

Alex’s eyes widened, but he didn’t ask questions.

Ash stood, woozy more from pain than any effect of the weak beer. By the time he saw Arthur tomorrow, he’d have to have that under control, too. He grabbed the arm of the couch to steady himself, the sudden move punishing him with sharp agony in his ribs. Ash swore under his breath. Alex looked up from the floor, startled. “Wha?”

“If I’m gonna have it by tomorrow,” Ash told him through gritted teeth, “I’d better start looking right now.” After being AWOL for days, Ash knew he’d find Dino in no mood to bestow presents. He had only the span of a bus ride into New Jersey to come up with a way to change his mind.

*

Dino Golzine dressed for dinner. To Ash, it seemed like a waste of time and good clothes, but it was one of the myriad things that Golzine would not bend on. So when Ash was escorted into the dining room is his torn, bloody blue jeans and Alex’s faded AC/DC t-shirt, Dino was not pleased.

“Ash,” he said, looking in disgust over his plate of prime rib. “So like a cat to come home when it gets hungry.”

Ash didn’t want his food. He certainly didn’t want his home. But he wouldn’t say either of those things. He stood, silent, at the foot of the table.

“Get him a plate,” Golzine instructed, and a man scurried off into the kitchen. He motioned for Ash to sit in the chair across from him. Ash obeyed. Dino waved his guards out of the room and sipped his wine. Only when the servant returned with Ash’s food and darted out again did he speak.

“I suppose you won’t tell me where you’ve been?” He sounded civilized. Almost conversational, but Ash knew better. The sharpness of those dark eyes, the pinched crease between the brows – Dino Golzine was livid.

Ash didn’t answer. He studied the food in front of him – a thick slab of prime rib, roasted parsnips and carrots, a dark green tangle of a leafy salad – he’d never had meals like that before Dino. He’d barely ever eaten meat that wasn’t wedged inside a bun, but at Dino’s it was prime rib and filet mignon, roast duck, escargot, and not just on special occasions. Every day. He thought of Alex, probably eating the crusts leftover from their pizza, or cup ramen from the dollar store. It didn’t seem fair that Ash was served such feasts while his friends so often went hungry.

He met Dino’s furious, possessive eyes. Other things were unfair, too.

“Look at you!” Dino continued, his voice revealing a bit more agitation. “I was thinking of sending my men out to fetch you home, but it’s clear your own… associates,” he might’ve said _insects_ or _vermin_ in that same disgusted tone, “have done my work for me.”

He paused again, as though he expected a comment. Ash didn’t know why. By now the old man should realize that he wasn’t the communicative type.

“Don’t think I’m going to go easy on you now, just because you’ve been knocked around a bit,” he continued after a moment. Ash closed his eyes, tuning him out.

For all of Ash’s intentions not to touch the food, he found himself picking up a fork. He’d been subsisting on Alex’s diet of cereal and peanut butter for days, and his body couldn’t resist the allure of meat. Golzine fell silent, watching as Ash cut a bite from his beef. Ash didn’t look up at him, couldn’t bear to see the look of smug satisfaction Dino always got whenever Ash grudgingly accepted something – anything – the man gave him.

“Never forget that it’s me you owe your life to, little Cat,” he said in a rumbling, low voice. “When I found you, you were huddled next to a dumpster, freezing cold and starving to death.” It was a story that he liked to repeat, like he was expecting to be canonized or something. “I was the one who gave you food, a bed to sleep in.”

But not alone. Ash’s stomach almost rejected the bite of salad he’d just swallowed. The bed had been at Club Cod, and sleeping had been its secondary purpose. And yet the bastard looked at him with that revolting, indulgent smile, as though Ash should be grateful. Fucking _grateful._

He found himself thinking, unexpectedly, of Claire. She’d helped him for no reason except that it was the right thing to do. She hadn’t asked for anything in return, hadn’t indicated that he owed her a favor. Hell, there was a good chance he’d never even see her again. How did a person like that even exist in the world, let alone as Fredrick Arthur’s little sister? 

He suddenly realized, mid-chew, that Dino had stopped talking. He glanced up to discover the man looking at him expectantly, an irritated scowl deepening on his face. “Huh?” Ash asked.

Golzine sighed, putting his silverware gently on his plate and patting the corners of his lips with his napkin with exaggerated calm before he leveled that dark gaze on Ash once more. “I asked you,” he said, drawing out each word as though he were talking to a particularly slow child, “if you needed me to have a word that boy who runs your gang – Andrews? Arthur? If you are too small to hold your own, then perhaps you should just–”

“I need a gun.”

Dino’s eyes went wide. For an instant, something like respect flickered there, but he washed it away with a look of contempt. “So you can murder me in my sleep?” he asked. He took a sip of wine. “I think not.”

For an instant, Ash let himself imagine how it would feel to do just that. Dino’s ever-present bodyguards would kill him in a matter of moments, so the triumph would be short lived. Short lived, but so, so sweet. He forced the thought away and shook his head, repulsed by what he was about to say. “A good pet knows better than to bite the hand that feeds it,” he said in a low voice.

For a long moment, Dino didn’t react, simply stared across the table. “Am I to understand,” he asked at last, “that you consider yourself a _good_ pet?”


	2. Chapter 2

2.

The gun felt strange and heavy in the waistband of Ash’s jeans. He tugged his jacket lower, even though his t-shirt more than hid the weapon from view.

Alex had been dumbfounded when Ash showed up at his apartment. “You really did it!” he’d cried when, as soon as the door was closed, Ash had pulled out the pistol. It was a combat Browning – at least, that’s what Golzine had told him when he’d given it to him that morning. Sleek, black, and fully automatic, it was basically a murder machine. It made Ash a bit queasy, having it tucked against his lower back.

He had found it on his bedside table when he woke that morning. It was in a gold-foiled gift box, tied with a deep red ribbon, like a fucking Valentine’s Day present. Knowing what it probably was, Ash’s hands shook as he untied the bow. His heart had caught and then hammered like mad when he first saw it, nestled in the paisley silk bed of one of Dino’s ascots. There was even a card: _For hunting mice, Wildcat._

At breakfast, Ash had learned of all the conditions that came with gun ownership. He was to come home each night: “No more sleepovers with god-only-knows who.” Breakfasts with Dino, no sleeping until noon. “And you must keep me informed about the activities of your gang,” he added, as though this were on the same plane of existence as soft-boiled eggs and mimosas. Ash bristled at that. He was a lot of things, but never a snitch and never a rat.

“Unless you’d rather face those boys unarmed?” 

Golzine had him up against a wall and he knew it. “Fine.” If Dino wanted him playing house, he’d play house, damn it. If he wanted him to spy on his own crew, he’d find a way to tell him just enough to keep him off his back. But he wasn’t gonna roll over for the old man, no matter what.

He’d spent the rest of the morning practicing. Dino had a shooting range in one of the compound’s outbuildings – Ash had been inside only a few times, but he knew no one would bother him while he learned to shoot the thing. It was harder than it looked – the kickback was fierce and the thing weighed a ton. With his busted rib, it was brutal just trying the keep his hands steady. But after half a dozen magazines, he was hitting the target as much as he was missing, so he considered it a success.

It was late afternoon when Ash and Alex strolled into the bar where Arthur liked to hang out. Wookie and Spike sat at a table near the door; as soon as they saw Ash, they stood, blocking his way. 

“Boss!” Spike tossed a look over his shoulder toward the jukebox, where Arthur was talking to a brunette in a tiny denim skirt. “The lynx is back.”

Arthur looked up, his irritation changing quickly into cruel pleasure. “So he is,” he said. The room fell silent, one table at a time as Arthur walked slowly toward them.

Ash felt, more than saw Alex fall back a step. He couldn’t blame him. Arthur was a scary guy, and so far, Alex had managed to avoid his notice – not an easy feat when you hung out with Ash Lynx. Besides, Ash had to do this himself. If he didn’t show Arthur that he could stand on his own, he’d be a kicking boy for the rest of his life.

“Hey, Arthur,” he said. The words sounded a hundred times cooler than he felt.  
Arthur crossed his arms over his chest. Smirked. “I didn’t think I’d see you around here again.”

Every eye in the place was on him. Ash was sweating, the gun sliding lower and lower into his jeans until he was half afraid it’d slide past his ass and down his leg. “I don’t scare so easy,” he said. He probably looked ridiculous, barely five feet tall and sporting a shiner the size of a softball. But no, he couldn’t think about that. He thought of Claire, who yelled obscenities at Wookie and called Arthur “Freddy” like he was a character in an Edwardian novel. If she could manage that, Ash could stand his ground.

“I see that.” Arthur’s lips twisted into a smile. He stepped close enough that Ash could smell cologne and cigarettes and the gel he used in his hair. 

Nearly toe-to-toe, Ash was forced to look up at him. It was a cheap tactic, and rather than intimidate him, it made Ash feel strangely superior. He took a deep breath. “I got as much a right to be here as anybody.”

Arthur exchanged a look with Wookie and Spike, then lifted his cigarette to his lips for a long drag. “I’m the one who decides that.”

The bar was crowded with guys from their set. Less than half of them were older than Ash. Usually, by the time a kid hit his twenties, he either got out – via cop or bullet usually – or graduated up into a life of crime under one of the larger syndicates, like the Corsican group Golzine ran. Ash glanced across the faces gathered there. “You are,” he agreed, his eyes flicking back to Arthur. “For now.” 

“That a challenge?” Arthur still looked cool and remote, but Ash was close enough to witness the way his left eye twitched. He was on the edge of something violent.

If there was anything in the world that Ash Lynx knew how to do, it was to manipulate men. He had pushed Arthur enough, and it was time to back down, just a bit. He widened his eyes, let the tension around his mouth go slack. He ran a hand through his hair, making it stand up in all directions. “No way,” he said then, the picture of child-like innocence. “I’m not looking to make enemies.”

It was as though the whole place were holding its breath, waiting for Arthur’s reaction. The older guys were tense, ready to shred Ash if Arthur so much as gestured. 

Ash waited a beat. 

Two.

And then Arthur sighed. “Beat it, kid,” he said wearily. He turned back to the jukebox, back to the girl waiting for him there. His turn signaled to everyone that Ash wasn’t a threat, and the room gradually switched back to normal. Spike and Wookie returned to their beers, and Ash let out a silent _huff_ of relief.

“You didn’t even need the piece,” Alex hissed in his ear as they headed toward a table in the back.

But Alex was wrong. Ash did need it – it just wasn’t Arthur and his faithful dogs who needed to see it. He spun a chair around and straddled it, deliberately letting his jacket and shirt ride up in the back. A sharp intake of breath behind him told him that the job was done – the Browning’s black handle would be hard to miss against his pale skin, and as long as one of the younger kids saw it, then Ash knew that word would spread. He tugged his shirt down again and looked across the table at Bones, who was shuffling a worn deck of cards. “Deal me in.”

*

Word spread quickly – _Ash Lynx is carrying_ – until, just as Ash had hoped, all the kids his own age and younger were looking at him with new respect. There was a distinct hierarchy in their world, and it ensured that respect came from power and power came only with strength. Few things demonstrated as much strength as thirteen rounds in a semiautomatic pistol.

The news would make its way up to Arthur sooner or later, but rumors ran downhill much faster than up, and Ash was counting on having a crew of respectful underlings before having to go toe-to-toe with his boss again. It would be harder for Arthur to isolate him, to single him out for any kind of punishment if there was even the illusion of the rest of the boys having his back.

But he would find out eventually. Ash was counting on it. Arthur would hear about the gun and confront him about it – probably try to force a draw or somehow shame him into conceding that, even armed, he was no match for the older boy. Ash didn’t care what Arthur’s angle was, as long as it was clear to everyone that Fredrick Arthur had sought him out, not the other way around.

And when that happened, it was best to be hard to find. That was partly why Ash was in the New York Public Library. Arthur would never think to look there, and yet that very fact would add to his foolishness if it were discovered that Ash had been lingering in so public a spot. But hanging out at the library had other benefits as well, benefits that most of the guys he knew would overlook entirely; Ash was doing research.

There were four books on the table in front of him – two of them were about soldiers who went missing in action during Vietnam, one was a psychology journal that had some of the most recent research into post-traumatic stress disorder, and the other was the white pages, opened to the page for the Veteran’s Affairs offices. He thought he had enough information to start looking – really looking – for Griffin, but something kept him from making that first phone call.

What if Griff really was dead? What if that notice from the army – _missing and presumed dead_ – had been accurate, after all? Ash still remembered the telegram, the way it fluttered to the floor as his father reached for a tumbler of whiskey, a tremor in his liver-spotted hands. Ash closed his eyes, his hands tugging at his hair.

The scuff of a chair against the floor, the light jostle of the table, these were enough to put Ash instantly on his guard. The reading room was less than a quarter full – certainly no one needed to sit so close? He cracked open one eye.

The girl who’d taken the seat across from his wore her fluffy hair in two ponytails, and this time he noticed that her ears were pierced – blue plastic stars dangled from each lobe. It was Claire, and Ash was strangely pleased to see her. 

She wore a New York Mets t-shirt; Ash grimaced. “You got a thing for underdogs?” he asked.

Claire only smiled. “I think this is gonna be their year,” she said. She looked at him, only a hint of a smile tugging the corner of her lips. “You look better.”

“If I looked worse, I’d be dead.”

“So why aren’t you at school?” 

Even though it was already hot out, it was only the beginning of May. Ash supposed that school was still in session, though he hadn’t given it too much thought. He hadn’t been to school since he left Cape Cod, halfway through third grade. “I could ask you the same,” he told her.

That almost-smile turned into full-on dimples. “Research project,” she told him. She opened the backpack she’d slung across the table and pulled out a Trapper Keeper with a picture of horses on it. “I’m looking for a correlation between truancy and New York City youth gang activity.”

“Funny.” His tone was sarcastic, but he felt like smiling. Maybe he was smiling.

Claire looked at the books he had spread around him. She gave a low whistle. “Looks like you’re doing some heavy research yourself,” she said. She picked up the psychology book and thumbed through the introduction. “This got something to do with your brother?”

Ash wasn’t sure what to say. He liked that she’d jumped straight into the important stuff, skipping the _fancy meeting you here_ bullshit bits. He liked that she remembered what he’d told her about Griffin. “Yeah,” he finally told her, again surprised at his willingness to share. “He’s officially MIA.”

“And you want to find him.” 

There wasn’t really anything to say to that. Ash didn’t want to get into the logistics with her, nor did he want to have a discussion about his less-than-stellar childhood and how he secretly dreamed that Griff would find him and somehow make it all go away like a particularly long and vivid nightmare.

When he didn’t answer, Claire pulled a textbook out of her bag and opened her notebook. Ash watched from the corner of his eye as she started working on math problems. Ditching school just to do homework? He wanted to ask, but he didn’t know how to ask questions like that. He didn’t know how to start a conversation about normal things with a normal person.

So they each worked in silence. Ash took notes in a steno notebook he’d bought at the drugstore a few months before. Almost every page was covered with his scribbles, and he found he was discovering fewer and fewer pieces of new information to record. After nearly twenty minutes of old material, Ash was bored. He lay down his pen and watched Claire instead.

She had her head down low, her eyes flicking back and forth between her algebra book and the problems on the paper. Her fingers gripped the pencil lightly, and Ash noticed that it still had a decent eraser on the end, despite having been sharpened to half its original length. “Algebra,” he said at last. “What grade do they teach that?”

Her dark eyes flicked up, glancing at him for a moment before returning to her page. She finished the problem she had been working on before answering. “You don’t know?”

“I don’t know.”

“Eighth, usually,” she said. She closed her notebook and looked at him for a long moment. “Don’t you go to school?”

“So you’re in eighth grade?” he asked.

Claire shook her head. “Seventh. I’m taking advanced math.”

“Smarter than your brother then,” Ash said. 

“No way,” she insisted. “Freddy’s hella smart. He just doesn’t see the point in taking the long way around things. He’d rather barrel straight through. Since college didn’t seem to be an option, he took the most direct path he could find to success.” A sadness in her tone belied the matter-of-fact explanation.

“You’re taking the long way, then?” 

She nodded, her expression serious. “No way can I get mixed up in the shit he’s into,” she told him. “I’m going to law school. I’m gonna change things around here.” She looked determined, and Ash didn’t doubt for a minute that she believed every word she said.

He wished he could believe it, too, but he knew better. The whole world sucked – at least in the Lower East Side, the ugliness was right up on the surface, where people could see it. In other places, like those parties at Golzine’s mansion, everything was polished till it gleamed, but under all that beauty, it was still filth. “Is this place worth saving?” he asked. “I mean, you could go to college and just get out of here, if you wanted.”

“Bet you could, too,” she countered. “You don’t talk like a kid, Ash Lynx. I think you’re plenty smart.”

He was surprised she knew his name. “Not smart enough to avoid getting mixed up in the same shit as your brother,” he reminded her. “Besides, you gotta go to school to go to college. I quit that years ago.”

“For fist fights and petty theft?” She pursed her lips, disapproving. “You could do so much better than that. Hell, you’re _already_ better than that.”

He wanted to laugh, but a tightness in his chest kept his usual sarcasm at bay. No one had ever said anything like that to him before. As far as Ash could tell, the general consensus was that he wasn’t worth a damn thing to anyone. “Nah,” he said at last. “I’m pretty much the bottom of the barrel.”

Claire’s face scrunched up into a frown and she shook her head, making those fluffy pigtails bounce. “Don’t say that,” she insisted, reaching across the table and taking his hands. He almost flinched away, but the fierce tenderness in the gesture froze him in place. Her hands were warm, and so, so soft. “You’re not a bad person. I can tell.” 

She was wrong. She barely knew him, so how could she know? Ash pulled his hands back. He looked down, away from those serious dark eyes. “Stick around,” he said, his voice too tight. “You’ll change your mind.”

For a long moment she looked at him, and he felt like her scrutiny might turn him inside out. Ash was used to being looked at, but it felt like Claire was doing something different, like she was actually seeing _him,_ not just the pretty-boy candy coating. It made him want to crawl under the table. “No,” she said at last, her voice thoughtful. “I really don’t think I will.”


End file.
